


Something New

by der_tanzer



Series: Lost and Found (Quinlan Remix) [4]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>True love can only be concealed for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something New

**Author's Note:**

> The final story in the Lost and Found (Quinlan Mix) series. There's no counterpart in the original OT3 version, as one wasn't needed.

Murray stepped into _Straightaway’s_ alone on a Saturday evening three months after his abduction. It was his first time here by himself, but it wasn’t supposed to be. Nick and Cody were supposed to be there, but he couldn’t spot them. There wasn’t much of a crowd, the tables weren’t full, but he didn’t see his friends. Maybe they were at the bar, he decided, and went to check.

They weren’t, but he saw someone else he knew.

“Hi, Lieutenant,” he said shyly. Quinlan turned around and gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “Have you seen Nick or Cody tonight?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“I was working and the guys came up here for dinner,” Murray explained. Anything to delay walking home alone. “I told them I didn’t want to come, but then I got hungry and thought I’d surprise them. I guess they already left.”

“Looks that way,” Quinlan said, turning back to his beer. He was half-hoping Murray would go away, but the other half wanted him to stay, so it wasn’t disappointing when the skinny geek pulled up the nearest barstool and sat down.

“Lieutenant, can we talk for a minute?”

Quinlan glanced at his watch without really meaning to, and then grinned.

“I never seen you keep it to a minute, but you can try.”

“I just—Every time I see you, I want to say something and then I change my mind. You’re not an easy man to talk to, you know. You might want to work on your people skills, Lieutenant. There are a lot of books on the topic that might interest—”

“That was fifteen seconds, kid. Was it worth it?”

“Right down to business, then. Okay, I wanted to thank you. For saving my life, I mean.”

“Did I do that?”

“Yes, you did. You listened to the guys when they said I was missing, and you made sure they found me. There was a time when they could have told you I’d disappeared and you’d have said _good_. And probably arrested them for bothering you, too. The fact that you didn’t this time is the only reason I’m alive.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Yes, well—I wanted to thank you anyway. I guess my minute’s up.”

“Look, Bozinsky…” He started out harshly, but the tremble of Murray’s chin and the sheen in his eyes stopped him. He wasn’t going to tell the truth, but maybe he didn’t have to be as big a jerk as usual. “It’s—it’s my job. But I’m glad you’re okay. It would’ve been too quiet around here without you getting into everybody’s business, anyway.”

“Well, I’m just trying to help. That’s kind of my job, too. Anyway, I said what I wanted to say, so I guess I ought to go. Let you finish your drink there in peace.” He started to slide down off the stool and then paused. “Unless you’d let me buy you dinner. I sort of feel like I owe you something. I don’t know what my life’s worth, but—”

“A steak and a beer ought to cover it,” Quinlan said dryly. “But that doesn’t mean I want to listen to you talk.”

“No, no, of course not,” he said, flustered by Quinlan’s acceptance of his offer. “You can do all the talking if you want. I know how to be quiet. It’s not very easy, I admit, and I’m not very good at it, but—”

“Yeah, I can tell. I’m gonna hit the head. Why don’t you get a table?” He drained his beer and was gone before Murray had a chance to decide if he should be embarrassed or flattered. Quinlan always left him feeling that way, confused and off-balance. Still thinking it over, Murray signaled a waitress and asked for a table.

When Quinlan came out of the restroom and looked around, it was all Murray could do not to wave to him. But that would be wrong. He couldn’t be conspicuous. Quinlan didn’t want to be seen with him.

The waitress brought menus, two glasses, and a pitcher of beer. Quinlan ordered and drank most of glass of beer before Murray had decided what he wanted. He settled on a cheeseburger and fries, and asked for a glass of water. He didn’t want the lieutenant to see him drunk.

Quinlan had drained his glass and poured another by the time their food arrived. He poured a glass for Murray, who sipped it slowly and alternated with water so it didn’t go to his head. But Quinlan didn’t notice his companion’s restraint and drank freely, talking about a case he was working on, although even after three beers he didn’t break confidentiality. Well, three that Murray knew of. As he listened, he tried to guess how many might have been consumed before he arrived, and pondered exactly how Quinlan was planning on getting home. He didn’t seem terribly drunk—not like Murray would be after half that amount—but he surely couldn’t drive.

“So how’re you doing?” he asked, jarring Murray from his reverie. “I haven’t seen you outside much since you got back.”

That answered part of Murray’s question. Quinlan would have to be pretty drunk to take a personal interest in him, he was sure.

“I’ve been doing a lot of work with my computers,” he said, dropping his eyes. “We’ve had a few cases, but I haven’t really been going out. There’s just so much to do inside, and I’m still the only one who can work the computers.”

“Oh, yeah, I can see that. Everyone plays to their strengths, right?”

“That’s right. Equitable division of labor is the key to any successful operation,” Murray said, as if he’d never begged to go out on the street and be a part of the rough and tumble casework.

“Still scared shitless, huh?” Quinlan asked and took a drink.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly like that,” Murray dissembled weakly.

“Does that mean it ain’t true?”

“No, I guess not. I did walk up here, but Dooley came with me. I should have made sure the guys were here before I let him go.”

“And you’re still here because you don’t want to walk home alone in the dark,” Quinlan said matter-of-factly. He cut up the rest of his steak while Murray stuttered and stammered for an answer. “Forget it. It’s none of my business. But if your buddies don’t come back for you, I’ll see you get home.”

“Why, thank you. But—I don’t want to rude, Lieutenant—it’s just that—well, will you be able to drive?”

“Probably. Or you can. You still drive, right?”

“Well, yes. I really appreciate the offer, and I’d be happy to give you a ride.”

Quinlan raised his eyebrows and gave Murray an oddly searching look before returning to his steak and potato.

“We’ll see,” was all he said. After a long pause, during which Murray finished his burger and Quinlan moved on to his fourth beer, he added, “So how come you’re being so nice to me?”

“You saved my life,” Murray reminded him, picking nervously at his fries. “Besides, I try to be nice to everyone. You just don’t like me so it doesn’t always work very well.”

“I like you all right,” he muttered into his glass. Murray wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly, and was still a little too intimidated to ask, so he didn’t respond right away. He sipped some more water while Quinlan went on eating, not raising his eyes.

“Lieutenant Quinlan?” Murray whispered. “What kind of reputation do I have in town now?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Since I came back. I don’t see very many people and everyone’s so—so nice… But I can’t help noticing the people who are missing. People I thought were my friends who never come around anymore. I’ve asked Nick and Cody, but I think they lie to spare my feelings. You’d never do that, would you?”

“What, spare your feelings? Hell, no.”

“So what’s going on? What are people saying?”

“Not a lot,” Quinlan said. He poured another glass of beer and drank down half. “It’s been long enough, the scandal’s pretty much over. I think it was probably over two days after you got back from your—vacation.”

“Then—I don’t understand. I’ve been trying to be more social, sitting out on deck in the afternoons and—and going to the library, but—but the neighbors don’t come over anymore.”

“I thought you were a genius,” Quinlan said wryly.

“Hmm? Well, yes, I—wait. What does that mean?”

“It means I shouldn’t have to explain all this to you.” He put down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He had no intention of explaining it—it wasn’t his job—and he’d probably had too much to drink. But almost before he knew it, the words were tumbling from his lips. “People don’t know what to say to you anymore. You’ve always been kinda tough to understand, with all your geek-speak mumbo-jumbo, but you’re friendly. Open. People like that. Except now. Now they’re afraid of what you’re gonna say. There’s stuff they don’t want to know.”

“And I talk too much, right? I might suddenly say something awful?” he asked slowly, his voice trembling. “Why would I want to talk about—about—jeez, that’s just stupid.”

“Yeah, but it’s only half the problem. The other half is people being afraid of doing what I just did, which is saying the wrong thing and upsetting you. No one knows what all hell you been through, so no one knows what not to say.”

“So why’d you agree to have dinner with me? Do you want to hear what I might say, or are you just not afraid of hurting me?”

“I never say no to a free meal,” he said and emptied the pitcher of beer into his glass. He signaled the waitress again and asked for a shot of whiskey. She brought it promptly and he knocked it back before finishing the beer.

“Well, now that you’ve had it, we should probably go. You don’t want to be seen with me any more than my neighbors do.”

“I got no problem with you, kiddo. I’m going to the head.” Quinlan got up and wandered toward the restroom, swaying slightly but maintaining a straight course. Murray paid the check and waited for Quinlan to come out before going to the restroom himself. It wouldn’t do to follow too closely. It wouldn’t look right.

They met up at Quinlan’s car and he gave Murray the keys without comment. They didn’t talk much on the drive, just Murray asking for directions and Quinlan giving them until they pulled up in front of his neat little house.

“This is nice,” Murray said, forgetting his melancholy in the presence of something new. “I didn’t know you lived in such a nice neighborhood. And your house is adorable. Are those rhododendrons? Because when I was a kid, my mother—”

“They’re bushes, kid. Who cares? Look, I don’t know if I can make it up the steps. Walk me in, will you?” It was a casual request, made with drunken cunning and a steady voice. Murray, who after everything still believed in people, heard only the casual and steady elements. After all, this was Lieutenant Quinlan, a man who had recently been known to take him seriously about cases, and who had even more recently saved his life. He pocketed the keys, got out of the car, and went around to the other side to give the lieutenant a hand.

By the time they reached the front door, Quinlan had his arm around Murray’s waist and was leaning frankly into his questionable support. Murray unlocked it and stepped inside when Quinlan declined to release him.

“I should get home,” he said uncertainly when the lieutenant finally let go and stumbled toward the tidy little kitchen.

“No, stay a minute. Have another drink. My whiskey’s a lot better than that cheap stuff at the bar.”

“Oh, no, I—thank you, but I really shouldn’t. I’m not really much of a drinker, you know, and the guys will be wondering where I am.”

“Will they?” Quinlan took a bottle down from a high cupboard and poured two shots. “You sleeping with them, too?”

“What? _No_. That is—they’ve been looking after me, of course, but not—not like…” He trailed off, confused, and went into the kitchen when Quinlan beckoned to him again. He took the glass when it was pressed into his hand and sipped the fiery drink as if he was afraid. Quinlan sat down at the table and Murray saw no choice but to sit across from him. Anything else would have been rude.

“I met your boyfriend when you disappeared. Pretty little thing. But useless, wasn’t he?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Murray said, and now his voice was trembling. Why on Earth was Ted Quinlan asking about his love life? Especially after all the things he’d said at the hospital. _I know what you are_ still rang in his ears when he tried to sleep some nights.

“No? Sure seemed like it.”

“He was,” Murray whispered, unaccountably ashamed. “He—he didn’t want—I haven’t seen him since—since I got back. He won’t even speak to me.”

Quinlan drank his second shot and poured a third. With the courage it offered, he sneered and replied, “You’re better off.”

“Yes, probably.” He drank off his whiskey quickly, let its warmth bloom in his chest, and spoke recklessly. “No one wants to touch me anymore and I don’t blame them.”

“No one?” Quinlan asked, his eyes sparkling oddly, like a challenge.

“Nick and Cody offered, but we’ve been down that road before. If we couldn’t make it work when I _wasn’t_ a screwed up freak, I don’t see how we can now. I need friends more than I do lovers.”

“So they ain’t touched you since then?”

“Once,” he confessed, dropping his eyes. “I needed to be loved and—and they were—kind.”

“You only needed loving once?” Quinlan asked, frankly disbelieving. Murray blushed fiery red in answer. He slid his hands up his cheeks, his fingertips under his glasses, and pressed them hard over his watering eyes. “Are you drunk?” Quinlan asked, strangely gentle now.

“Drunk? No. A little lightheaded, maybe, but—let me sit on the porch for a few minutes, and then I can—” He stopped short. Then he could what? Drive home? He didn’t have a car. It wasn’t too far to walk, but it was dark out and Murray didn’t go anywhere alone even in the daytime. To walk after dark would require both Nick and Cody, and probably the Roboz, too.

“Can what?” Quinlan asked, as if reading his mind. “Leave? No, I’m not asking if you’re sober enough to leave.”

Murray dropped his hands and cocked his head questioningly. “Then—then why—what—?”

“Come here,” he said, jerking his head in command. Murray rose and went to him, frightened more of the cost of disobedience than of the possible reasons behind the order. That Quinlan was judging his sobriety by the way he walked never entered his mind. He stood before the lieutenant, looking down into the harsh, laughing face that had tormented him so cruelly since the day they met. But amid the sharp lines left by so many years of laughter and jeering smirks, he saw something else. Something gentle and sincere. For a brief second he recalled having seen that expression in the basement, when Quinlan was holding his head and saying kind things. But the memory of the basement, and of this man having seen him there, made his face burn again and he forced it away.

“What’s going on, Lieutenant?”

The next thing he knew, Quinlan was holding him, gripping his trembling fingers in one hand and his bony hip with the other, pulling him closer until Murray stumbled and sat down in his lap. He tried to stand, bracing himself with his free hand on Quinlan’s shoulder as he stammered out an apology, but halfway through he realized the hands that held him hadn’t relaxed their grip. Some of the stiffness went out of his body as he asked again what was going on.

“Tell me the truth, Bozinsky. How much loving do you need?”

“I—a lot. More than anyone’s ever going to want to give me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because no one could love me that much before, and now—now I’m—I’m so _damaged_. I’m all scarred and broken and—and I don’t even know if—what—I mean, how—”

“I can,” Quinlan said, releasing Murray’s hand and sliding his arms around the narrow waist.

“You—what?”

“I can love you as much as you need. I’ve been in love with you for a long time and just too damn—something. Stupid, or stubborn, I don’t know—to say so. Thought you were getting it from your friends, or that parade of pretty boys…”

“The pretty boys were mine,” Murray whispered. “But they didn’t love me, and even if I wanted that kind of relationship now, they wouldn’t have me. I’m not famous enough to make up for—this.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, kid. And by that I don’t mean you can be fixed, because you don’t need fixing. You just need to be loved and I—I love you. Now, I understand if that’s not enough. If you want to go home and pretend this never happened, you can call a cab and be gone in ten minutes. But if you want loving, you can stay the night and you’ll get all you want of it.”

“I—I don’t understand,” Murray said helplessly. “Why didn’t you ever—ever tell me?”

“Didn’t think it’d impress you much, with all the pretty boys you had to choose from. Now you seem to need someone, so I’m offering. I ain’t asking you to love me back. Not now, at least.”

“Lieutenant, are _you_ drunk?”

“Just drunk enough to say it, kid. Not so drunk that I don’t mean it.” He slid his hand up Murray’s back, cradled his neck for a few seconds, then pulled his head down gently for a kiss. It was so cautious, so very careful and tender, that Murray relaxed and let the strong hand guide him. He had no reason not to kiss this man who had saved his life and, absurd as it seemed after all these years, now wanted to be kind.

And he was. The kiss went on and on, probing and searching, learning the contours of Murray’s lips, the taste of his passion and his fears. His hands were firm but light, holding Murray though not restraining him. When Murray finally gave in to the moment and wrapped his arms around Quinlan’s neck, the action was met with a small groan that sounded oddly grateful.

“Stay the night,” he repeated, and this time Murray nodded.

In the bedroom, Quinlan was clumsy undressing himself, but his hands were steady as he eased Murray out of his clothes and into bed. He left the reading lamp on and examined Murray’s slender, trembling body. He traced the scars with his fingertips, kissing softly everywhere he touched. In his mind’s eye he saw the wounds as they were that day in the desert, when he’d longed to cradle and comfort him and yet done nothing. So many times he’d gone to Murray, in the hospital and at home, making excuses and pretending it was official business when all he really wanted was to pet the fragile, broken man and offer what comfort was his to give.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he said gently. “If you aren’t ready…”

“No, I want to. I am,” he stammered, almost unable to believe that this was happening. That Ted Quinlan, of all people, was suddenly licking his scars, biting his nipples, seeking out the tender, ticklish spots on his throat and in the hollows of his shoulders. He still had so many questions, so many insecurities that needed to be addressed, but it felt so good, he didn’t know how to start. And he hadn’t lied—he did want someone to make love to him. Finally he decided that the best thing he could do for himself would be to take it as he had taken his friends’ affection—as something generous and good, something that could help him heal but couldn’t be expected to continue after tonight. He could believe that Quinlan was attracted to him—it was his experience that big, tough men often liked skinny, vulnerable lovers—but he never for a second considered that it was love.

Sharp anxiety pierced Murray’s heart when Quinlan took him in his mouth, but the pleasurable sensations overwhelmed his uncertainty and he thrust forward instead of pulling away. Quinlan swallowed him deep, teasing his swollen sac and the delicate skin of his inner thighs with suspiciously gentle fingers. Murray had a few seconds to wonder how far it would go, if Quinlan expected to turn him over and fuck him, and then Ted was on top of him, his bigger body warm and oddly comforting.

“Are your ribs okay?” he asked, stroking with one hand down the length of Murray’s torso. “Am I too heavy?”

“No. No, I’m fine. You’re fine,” Murray babbled, and blushed hotly when Quinlan laughed. But there was no meanness in it, he realized. It was actually kind of sweet. Quinlan kissed him again, soft and lingering, as he eased Murray’s legs up around his hips. They both gasped as sensitive flesh finally pressed together, and before Murray quite knew it, he was clinging to the lieutenant’s muscular shoulders. His neatly trimmed nails dug crescents in the tough skin as Quinlan took them both in hand and stroked against the rhythm of their thrusts.

Intoxication combined with long-denied want and the sudden fulfillment of his desires had Quinlan shooting against that soft, pale belly much sooner than he would have liked. But the shuddering of his body and the almost tearful sound of his choked groans thrilled Murray, who felt in that desperate restraint something like the love that Quinlan claimed to have for him. The strong hand kept squeezing, sliding hot and sticky-slick the length of his shaft, and Murray thrust into it with small, helpless grunts of effort and need. It was good, so good he hardly knew how to stand it, and then Quinlan’s other hand was winding into his hair, cradling his skull. When the hungry knowledgeable mouth returned to the sweet spot on his throat, he came with a frantic wordless shout. Quinlan stroked him gently through his climax, his lips pressed to Murray’s throat to feel the vibrations as his cries trailed off to whimpering moans.

“Are you okay, baby?” he whispered, and Murray nearly wept.

“Yes. Yes, I—I’m fine. Thank you.”

Quinlan gave him a quizzical look and rolled off, reaching for the tissues. When Murray didn’t speak, Quinlan drew him into a loose embrace and took his glasses off, laying them on the bedside table.

“Come on, kid, spill. What’s going on?”

“You didn’t have to say you love me. I’d probably have slept with you for a kiss and a little flattery.”

“Oh yeah? So you’d have gone to bed with anyone?” He had the correct note of mocking in his voice, but there was something else that Murray couldn’t quite pinpoint. It puzzled him and made him choose his words with care.

“No, not anyone. I just—you’ve arrested me enough times that I figured if you were going to hurt me, you would have by now. And—well—you’ve been so kind lately. I never thought you liked me, but maybe I was wrong.”

“Maybe?” Quinlan laughed, and _now_ he was mocking. But it wasn’t unkind. “Murray, I may be drunk and I may be a fool, but I ain’t a liar. I’ve been wanting to get you in the sack since you first came to town. And maybe it was just cheap lust back then, but I been in love with you for at least a year and that’s the truth. Why do you think I ran so fast to help your friends find you? And visited you in the hospital? And had the Coast Guard check up on you every day you were out at sea? Not to mention following you all over town so I’d be there if you got into trouble?”

“You—the Coast Guard was your idea? And—and the library? That wasn’t an accident?”

“Baby, I think I’ve known where you were every minute since I found you in the desert. I was so fucking scared—not as scared as you, but still…”

“You were?” Murray was beginning to take him seriously and cuddled closer, draping one long leg across his sturdy thighs.

“Was I? Jesus. I thought you were dead. I’d never get to tell you I loved you, or sweet-talk you into bed. And when you didn’t die, you were still so hurt and—jittery. I was terrified I’d say or do the wrong thing and blow my chances for good. Tonight was a big risk, wasn’t it?”

“Kind of. I—I thought you were just saying nice things to get me into bed, but it was okay. I just made up my mind to enjoy it and not worry about the reasons. Like I said, I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That’s a lot of trust from a guy who didn’t think I liked him.”

“Plenty of people have wanted to fuck me who didn’t like me,” Murray said with a hint of bitterness.

“So you just took a chance that the sex wouldn’t be terrible? Tell me something, kid. Do _you_ like _me_ at all?”

Murray laughed again, the bitterness suddenly gone, and kissed him sweetly.

“Yes, Lieutenant. I—uh—like you quite a bit.”

“Good. Tell me something else, then.”

“Hmm?”

“You said you let your buddies love on you a little after you got back. Was that meaningless, too?”

“No love is meaningless, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, just a second. I think after I’ve had your dick in my mouth we can be on a first name basis.”

“Okay, Ted. No, it wasn’t meaningless. It was just—it was the day I got out of the hospital and no one had touched me in weeks. At least not in a way that wasn’t painful or humiliating. They offered me something sweet and I wanted it. Like I wanted something sweet from you. But if you want something more…”

“Did they?”

“They offered,” Murray said slowly. “But it wasn’t right. I think they meant it, but it wouldn’t have worked. It’s better if we just stay friends. Why are you asking? You’re not jealous, are you?”

“No, I ain’t jealous,” he replied, as if it were absurd. Then he chucked grimly, his arms tightening around Murray’s slender body. “Not now, at least. I kind of was a minute ago, but knowing they offered and you said no—that helps.”

“So, can—uh—I ask a question now?”

“Sure. I might not answer—I ain’t the open book you are—but you can ask.”

“Well, if you’re in love with me, what happens next?”

“Next?”

“Well, yes. Does this mean we’re—dating? Do you want to—you know—see me again?”

“Do I want to see you again? Is that a joke?”

“Um—no. I’m sorry,” Murray whispered and started to draw away. Quinlan’s grip tightened, pulling him back firmly.

“Stop it, kid. Of course I want to see you. Would I have bared my soul like this for a one night stand?”

“I hope not, but I don’t really know you well enough to say.” That struck them both as funny and Murray hid his face against Quinlan’s neck as they laughed. But Ted quickly turned serious again, his hand shifting to Murray’s head in a gesture he was coming to recognize as both comforting and protective.

“I want you to know me that well,” he murmured. “Maybe even get to love me, if you think you can.”

“Yeah, I think maybe I could. If you keep being—kind…”

“Those are pretty hard terms, kid.”

Murray started to apologize and then realized he was joking.

“If I’m going to stay the night, I should call home. This is the longest I’ve been out of Nick and Cody’s sight in months. They might be worried.”

“Shit, yeah. I’m surprised Nick hasn’t—” But the ringing phone interrupted him. He hugged Murray harder with one arm and reached for the phone with the other. “H’lo? Oh, hey, Ryder. What’s going on?” He held the receiver a little away from his ear so Murray could listen in as Nick explained about leaving him at home on the boat and then coming back after dinner and a stroll on the beach to find him gone. Nick’s voice was quiet, obviously designed to help keep Cody calm, but he was clearly desperate as he pleaded for the lieutenant’s help.

“So you lost him again, did you? When are you going to get that geek a leash?”

There was a burst of nearly unintelligible profanity and Murray snatched the phone away with a snort.

“I’m here, Nick. Ted’s just being mean,” he said, shooting his new lover fond yet menacing looks. He listened to another barrage of questions and then tried to explain without making it worse. “When you guys weren’t at _Straightaway’s_ , I stayed and had dinner with him. You know, just to say thanks. He had a little too much to drink, so I drove him home. He’ll bring me home in the morning. No, that’s all right. Really, Nick, I don’t need a ride. No, I’m fine.”

Quinlan was laughing now and not troubling too much to hide it. Murray, caught between Nick's worried offers to pick him up and Quinlan’s challenge for him to tell the truth, finally broke.

“No, really, I want to stay. Why? Well, because we’re already in bed and I—I want to go to sleep,” he said shyly, his eyes squeezed shut against the expected outburst. But Nick was silent for a few seconds, Murray’s stifled breathing the only sound between them. Then he asked, his voice carefully controlled, to speak to Quinlan again. Murray said goodnight and handed back the phone. This time Ted didn’t share the conversation. He just said _yes, uh-huh, okay_ and then hung up.

“What did he say?” Murray asked anxiously.

“Not much. Just that he’ll kill me if I hurt you. And he wants you to check in if you’re going to be home later than ten. I guess you’ve got a case.”

“Oh. Good. That’ll be interesting. The case, that is. Not the killing you part.”

“It’s okay, kid. He’s not gonna have any reason to. You want the light on or off?”

“You can turn it off. I don’t think I’ll be afraid tonight.”

***

Murray woke alone in a strange bed, sunlight streaming across his face. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses. They weren’t where he expected, and after a few seconds of futile groping, he realized it was because this wasn’t his room and he had no idea where his glasses were. He sat up and looked around, still rubbing his eyes. It was a bigger room than his, and a bigger bed. The scent on the pillows was of another man, not him or his friends, and suddenly he recognized it. Lieutenant Quinlan. The memory of last night’s sweet passion rushed over him, heating his skin and making his nipples harden. Then his flush turned to one of embarrassment as he realized anew that he was alone. Quinlan had said he loved him, had held him down and fucked him in the kindest, least-invasive way Murray had ever known, and now he was gone. In Murray’s experience, that meant one of two things: either his date was making breakfast, or had left and was hoping he would get lost. Even in their own homes, men weren’t afraid to walk out on him and trust he’d be gone when they got back. Murray didn’t know for sure which kind Quinlan was, but he didn’t smell anything cooking.

He fell back on the bed, covering his face with his hands. Taken. He’d been taken in by Ted Quinlan, a man who offered to shake hands with people and then kneecapped them. He’d been naked and vulnerable, clung to that man in ecstasy and confessed secrets that could hurt his friends. Then he remembered with a start of horror that he’d spoken to Nick last night. He’d told Nick that he was in bed with Quinlan (he’d even called him _Ted_!) and what must they think of that? What would they think when he came home bearing this fresh humiliation?

Assuming he ever found his glasses.

“Hey, kiddo. Something wrong?” Murray dropped his hands and saw a blurry figure at the outer range of his vision. “Are you okay? You didn’t have a nightmare after all, did you?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just—I can’t find my glasses. I was—confused.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He hurried to the bed, grabbed Murray’s glasses from the nightstand, and placed them carefully in his hand. “I didn’t want to wake you. You were sleeping pretty hard. Thought I’d be back in time.”

Murray put his glasses on, too stunned with relief to register the words. When he could see again, he realized that Quinlan had been in the shower. His dark hair was still wet, combed back slickly and dripping onto his shoulders. A towel was wrapped around his waist and it pulled apart slightly as he sat down, exposing one muscled thigh.

“You didn’t leave,” Murray said foolishly.

“Leave? Why would I do that? This is my house. Besides, I promised you a ride home.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Murray sounded oddly vague, even to himself, and shook his head impatiently. “I’m sorry. You weren’t here and I—well, I thought—I thought maybe you’d gone.”

“I wouldn’t do that. You remember what I told you last night? I might be sober now, but I still mean it. I still want you.”

“Last night you said love.”

“Why else would I want you? Look, it’s not even eight o’clock yet. Why don’t you get some more sleep?”

“I think—that is—if it’s all right with you, that I’d rather have a shower and come back to bed with you.”

“That’s a good idea. There might be a couple inches of your skinny body that I missed last night.” He caught Murray’s cheek in his hand and kissed him in that slow, tender way that Murray would never believe if he wasn’t experiencing it for himself.

“You did mean it,” he breathed and Ted laughed.

“What do I have to do to make you believe me?”

“Be patient, I guess. I’ll go get that shower and be right back.” He climbed out of bed and was suddenly acutely aware of his nudity. Even Murray was amazed by how everything surprised him, how every moment sprung a new trap, and he had time to realize just how hard his friends must have worked to protect him while he walked around in a daze.

“If you’re cold, take my robe,” Quinlan said, nodding toward a short blue terry garment that hung by the door. It wasn’t cold here in the bright, sunny bedroom, and Murray knew that this man was protecting him, too.

“Thank you,” he said, keeping it brief so his voice wouldn’t shake, and pulled the robe on quickly. The muted scent of Skin Bracer enveloped him, warm as a hug, and he tied the belt swiftly about his waist. He caught a glimpse of Ted lying back on the bed, arms folded behind his head, smiling as he watched Murray’s nervous fussing. Murray smiled back, shy but suddenly a lot less nervous, and went out followed by the sound of Quinlan’s mild chuckle.

He showered quickly, soothed by the steam and the smell of his lover’s soap. His body was relaxed, a slight anticipation humming in his chest, but a small part of his brain still warned against letting down all guard. He wondered what it would take, how far Quinlan would have to go to truly earn his trust, and felt an instant stab of guilt. He had no right to distrust one who had been nothing but good to him.

Still, Ted was bigger than him, infinitely stronger (okay, not infinitely, but his finite limit was far past Murray’s ability to resist), and had the home court advantage. If he wanted to do something brutal or cruel, it would be all too easy.

Some of Murray’s calm evaporated at that thought. This could easily go bad and no one would believe him. Quinlan wasn’t a hugely popular man, but he was a cop and had a lot of power behind him. And another claim of assault would destroy Murray’s reputation. Not only would no one believe him now, they’d probably think he’d lied about the men in the desert, too. For the first time it hit him how vulnerable he really was. There had been no legal justice; the precedent was set. It might well be open season on his skinny butt, and naturally Quinlan would take the first shot.

Murray shook his head with a snort. He was being ridiculous. Quinlan might not love him—that was probably the alcohol talking—but he wasn’t a rapist. And he wasn’t that good an actor, either. Still—it was all very confusing. He turned off the water and reached for a towel. He rubbed his shaggy hair briskly and dried his body while staring at himself in the mirror. He’d definitely looked better. He was still too pale and the scars on his chest and belly were still mostly pink ridges, not yet aged to the smooth white lines that would allow him to start forgetting. As he traced his finger down the surgical scar that divided him, he remembered Ted kissing it last night. Running his tongue over it and smiling when it made Murray laugh. No, Ted wasn’t that good an actor.

He put the robe back on and returned to the bedroom to see if Quinlan was still awake. It would be just his luck if he spent all that time in paranoid fantasizing, only to find the other man had gotten bored and fallen asleep waiting. But Ted was just where Murray had left him, stretched out on the bed, one hand still tucked behind his head and the other moving lazily beneath the towel. He had a semi-erection that drew Murray’s eyes, making him blush, but Ted only smiled. He wasn’t embarrassed and it amused him to see that Murray was.

“I wondered if you were coming back,” he teased. “Thought all this nice might’ve scared you off.”

“Sorry. I—uh—I thought about shaving, but, you know, it’s not a good idea to share razors.”

“There’s some disposables in the drawer by the sink. But you shouldn’t bother. It’s kinda sexy.”

“Really? Because I was thinking that, too. I just wasn’t sure. I’ve tried the stubbly look a couple of times, but Nick and Cody always made fun of me and—and I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, a little. Why don’t you come over here and lie down? You look nervous.”

“I—I’m… Okay,” he said, not a statement on his condition but rather an admission that he had no objection. Murray put the robe back where he got it and climbed into bed. He didn’t know what to expect, and his fears resurfaced when Quinlan turned on his side and propped his head in his hand. His other hand went to Murray’s chest, slid around his protruding ribcage, and pressed gently against his back. Murray leaned into him hesitantly and felt some of his worry drain away as Ted kissed him. This was good, just about his speed, and he couldn’t resist pressing his stiffening cock against the mattress. Suddenly it seemed like the best idea in the world to slowly rub himself off while kissing this sweet, kind man. Although the idea of applying those words to Ted Quinlan still made him smile a little.

The shy but pleased smile encouraged Ted to go a little farther, stroking down the length of Murray’s body and cupping one small cheek in his hand. The smile disappeared in an instant but Ted went on gently kneading his ass.

“You want me to stop?”

“I’m scared,” Murray whispered.

“That’s not the answer I’m looking for, kid. I know you’re scared. What I’m asking is if I should stop.”

“No,” he breathed, but it was more intimidation than desire. He had to say no because he was afraid to say yes.

“So tell me why you’re scared. Is it because they hurt you and you’re just not ready, or because it’s me?”

“I’m not sure. I—I _want_ to trust you, but—I—I’m not…”

“Then tell me to stop.”

“I—I don’t want to. But I can, right? If I decide I want to later?”

“That’s always the rule. Any other rules you want to lay out up front?”

Murray looked him steadily in the eye for a few seconds, a painful blush crawling up his neck. The he took off his glasses and laid them aside.

“You can do anything you want with your hands, but I don’t want you to fuck me. I—I can’t have you behind me like that.”

“That’s fair. What about fucking you some other way?” Quinlan asked with great interest.

“Well—um—I guess we’ll have to see how it goes. If that’s okay with you.” He didn’t need to see Ted’s face to know he was smirking at that, and the sharp pinch on his ass told him everything he couldn’t guess.

Quinlan released him and turned to reach for the nightstand drawer. Murray listened closely, taking in the sound of tearing cardboard and the rattle of something weighty in a box, and was pleased that he warranted a fresh tube of Astroglide. Or maybe Ted hadn’t been with anyone in so long, he didn’t have an open one on hand. Either way, Murray called it a win. He didn’t want to be one of a hundred right now. Whether Ted really loved him or not, he needed to feel that he was somehow special to anyone who penetrated him.

He made a small, nervous sound, part pleasure, part fear, as the slick finger circled his tight pucker. His whole body tensed, clenching instinctively as if in anticipation of a blow, but the hand on his ass was gentle and the circling finger unhurried. Ted leaned down and kissed his shoulder blade softly, brushed his hair up off his neck and nibbled lightly at the smooth, white skin. Murray kept his eyes closed and tried to communicate with body language and quiet moans what he wanted more of and what he could do without.

When Ted lay down again, propped on his elbow and looking down into Murray’s expressive face, he saw a helpless, submissive need that only reinforced his feeling of responsibility. The kid was counting on him to keep his word; to be gentle, to love him. He kissed Murray’s trembling lips, coaxing them open and tasting him thoroughly as the tip of his middle finger slipped inside.

The sound in Murray’s throat was more whine than moan, but he didn’t break the kiss. He could tell by the angle of Ted’s hand that he was deliberately reducing his potential force, and it didn’t feel like the effort was costing him any finesse. Murray let it go on another minute, and when he was satisfied that Ted was going to be careful, he slid closer and draped his arm around the bigger body. The gentle finger probed deeper, sensitive to the thousands of nerve endings all crying out for his attention.

“Is that okay?” he whispered. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“No, it’s good,” Murray sighed. Every one of those nerve endings was shrieking approval and it was getting difficult to think. He leaned closer and resumed kissing so he wouldn’t have to speak. Warm, undulating waves of pressure/pleasure flowed through his body, making it hard to breathe, hard to lie still—hard to do anything but devour and be devoured as he ground against the bed.

There was no question that Ted knew what he was doing. It was exactly right, not fast enough to be painful, or so slow as to be tedious, and he had only begun to wish for that finger on prostate before it was there. He let out a low, drawn-out groan, so hungry, so dirty, that it took all of Ted’s willpower to resist leaping on him. But he’d promised. He’d given his word and he couldn’t betray the trust he saw in those glazed, helpless eyes. He slipped in a second finger and went on massaging, needing to hear more of those low, dirty groans.

“You want to come, baby? Can you?”

“I—oh— _aahh_ ,” he sighed and bit down on the rest, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

“Is that a yes?”

“I—oh, jeez.” He could come, and probably would if they kept this up any longer. Instead, he steeled himself and pulled away, his hand trailing regretfully over Quinlan’s sturdy ribs and muscular chest.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Ted asked, with more concern than Murray could understand.

“Nothing. Just—I want to sit up.” He hissed through his teeth as the gentle hand withdrew and pulled his knees up under himself, sitting back on his heels.

“Are you okay? Baby, talk to me.” Quinlan sounded scared now, and though Murray didn’t like that, it made him feel oddly powerful.

“I’m fine.” He picked up the lube and squeezed a little onto his hand. He stroked Ted’s long, thick cock, feeling it throb and twitch as he spread the lube. Yes, he was fine. This was just what he wanted. “Sit up, Lieutenant,” he whispered, his lithe fingers moving deftly over the silky skin. “I want you to hold me while we fuck.”

“Are you sure?” Ted asked, his voice quivering slightly. He wasn’t expecting this. But that didn’t keep him from sitting up and pulling the thin body closer as Murray squirmed into his lap. Murray wrapped one arm around his neck and kissed him, slow and teasing, spinning it out as long as he could bear. Then he lowered himself cautiously, pressing the blunt head of Ted’s cock against his ass.

“You love me?” Murray asked, as if it still mattered. Ted’s right hand dropped to the base of his shaft and held it still so Murray could find his way.

“I love you,” he whispered and it turned into a groan as the smooth, clingy flesh enveloped him. Murray worked him in slowly, rising and falling, sighing soft moans against Ted’s neck. They were together in perfect unity for a few moments, until something in his breathing changed. It was subtle, something Ted wouldn’t have noticed with another man, and maybe not with Murray had the situation been different. But it wasn’t different. It was one of the most delicate moments of his life.

“Baby, wait. What’s wrong? Does it hurt?”

“No, no. It doesn’t hurt,” he gasped, speaking through both the inhale and exhale.

“Don’t you lie to me,” Quinlan said, sounding like the stern lieutenant that Murray still thought he was.

“It’s good,” he moaned, not raising his head. “It hurts but I don’t care. I—I need you inside me. I need to be loved. You said you love me.”

“Enough that I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m on top. It’s my call.” His arms tightened around Ted’s shoulders and he began to move again, rising and falling, seeking a peculiar fulfillment that his lover didn’t understand. But he didn’t have to. The too-tight heat of Murray’s body, the moist breath and whimpering moans on his neck, all conspired to silence him. He had no complaints on his own behalf, and it really was Murray’s call.

Murray rocked gently, pressing the length of his body against Ted’s, and went still for a second as one strong hand finally closed around his cock. His muscles tightened involuntarily and he seemed to be waiting, along with Ted, to see what his own reaction would be. Then he exhaled and his stiff back relaxed a little, as if he had tested it and found it good. The gentle rocking resumed, a bit faster and maybe a little harder on the upswing, and his sobbing moans grew louder. Quinlan’s arm tightened around him, hugging him close as they strove madly with and against each other. Murray felt Ted’s cooperation and selfless giving, so different from the boys he’d been wasting time with these past few years, and was determined to give back all the pleasure he received. There was something special here, a profound sort of ecstasy glimpsed from the corner of his eye, just out of reach, but he was sure they could get there if they just worked together.

Murray reached it first, coming hard against Ted’s stomach, every muscle in his body clenching as he shuddered and writhed. He seemed to have lost his voice and Ted would have worried about that had Murray not kept thrusting, his breath catching in his throat and escaping in sharp, eager gasps. His rippling muscles and frantic undulations were too much for Ted and he came in the midst of Murray’s helpless paroxysms, his own low grunts of satisfaction compensating for his lover’s strange silence.

Quinlan lay back, still trembling with release, and held Murray on his chest, both of them panting and running with sweat. After a moment, he realized Murray was weeping and lifted one hand to cradle his head, pressing it firmly to his shoulder.

“Are you okay, kid? What do you need?”

“Just hold me,” he whispered, trying to choke back a sob. “Please don’t let it be a lie.”

“No, baby, it ain’t a lie. But it’s all right. You can cry if you need to.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t. It was beautiful, and just exactly what I wanted, but—but I’m going to cry anyway.”

“It’s all right,” Quinlan repeated, still holding Murray’s head and petting him tenderly. Murray clung to him, his back arched at an uncomfortable angle to keep his lover’s cock inside as long as possible. But gradually Ted’s erection faded and his soft flesh slipped away. Murray let it go with a sob of regret, burying his face against Ted’s throat. “It’s all right,” he said again. “Whatever you’re feeling is all right.”

Murray laughed, high-pitched and jagged, and raised his head to kiss Ted swiftly.

“When did you get so sensitive, Lieutenant? Suddenly you know all the right things to say—how did that happen?”

“No idea. But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation, you know.”

“Who would believe me?” he grinned and laid his head back down on the strong shoulder.

“Think your buddies will let you sleep over again?”

“Probably. Anyway, they’ll take it better with some advance notice. I hope. And you could maybe try being friends with them. That’d help.”

“And if they give you a hard time?”

“That’d be too bad, because I want to keep seeing you and I hate to fight with them. You have to try and help me out, Ted. Or at least don’t make it worse.”

This time Quinlan was the one who laughed, loud and long, a rumbling laugh that shook the bed and finally jarred Murray out of his tears.

“Is that too much to ask?”

“We’ll see. I’ll knock off the parking tickets if you want.”

“Well, the times when they’re actually legally parked, at least,” Murray replied with a smile.

“You got it. So are you really okay?”

“Yes, I—I think so. For now. Ted, I—well—thank you.”

“Hey, don’t thank me. I’m the one who just got to satisfy three years’ worth of fantasies here.”

“Maybe. But I’m still screwed up enough to be grateful that you were so—so sweet to me. Your fantasies didn’t have to involve giving me the best orgasm of my life.”

“I did that? Really?” he asked with a wicked grin.

“So far. Ted, I—I might be falling in love with you,” Murray whispered, his voice weak and small. “So it’s really important that you tell me the truth. If this is a joke of some kind, if you’re trying to get me involved so you can throw me out and have a good laugh—please don’t. Please tell me now.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” Ted turned on his side and cuddled him close, tucking Murray’s head under his chin. “No, it ain’t a joke. I’ve groped you during pat-downs just for fun, and I still whack off to the memory of your last delousing, but I never hurt you on purpose. And, as you might have noticed, I was never vulnerable myself. Not like I am now.”

“I thought it was odd that you did the delousing personally,” he mused.

“Baby, it ain’t even SOP in our jail. I just couldn’t wait any longer to—uh—sneak a peek at the goods.”

“I suppose,” Murray said thoughtfully, “that I should feel angry and taken advantage of right now. But instead I’m going to ask one question. Have you ever deloused anyone else for a cheap thrill?”

“Not since you came to town.”

“Then I forgive you.” He tipped his head back and Ted kissed him softly, the tenderness in his bright blue eyes still taking Murray by surprise. He wondered if he’d ever get used to it.

“Good.” Ted held him in silence, caressing his shaggy hair and thin back, and Murray let himself doze a little. The late night was catching up with him, and good orgasms always made him sleepy. In a little while he would get up and take a shower. There would be breakfast, if Ted had anything to cook, and after that, he would go home and explain this to his friends. He had to make them understand what had happened, that he had found a friend and lover in their old enemy, and a measure of peace in his bed.


End file.
